That sobered her up. ‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Aren’t you worried about her being on her own?’
‘She’ll be on a plane right now, there’s not much she can do. And there’s not much I can do.’ Dan peered closer at her, narrowing his eyes as he examined her face. ‘Are you okay, Charity?’
‘Fine.’
Dan looked unconvinced. ‘Are you sure?’
Charity felt tears slide down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Charity.’ Dan pulled her into his arms and she sobbed against his shoulder, aware in that drunken way that she was getting mascara all over his expensive-looking blue shirt but enjoying how comforting it was to be held.
After a while, Dan looked down at her. ‘Let’s get drinks,’ he said, getting a crisp napkin from his pocket and gently wiping her mascara streaks away.
Later, as Charity ate another dessert and drank with Dan, she finally felt herself relax. Dan was easy to talk to, so charming and light and happy. He encouraged her to talk about her family and Faith – the good stuff, not the bad stuff – and it somehow didn’t hurt. He also kept topping up her glass, the expensive champagne he’d ordered buzzed through her veins, rubbing away the argument she’d had with Niall.
‘So, how are you rich enough to afford this ridiculously expensive champagne?’ Charity asked, raising the glass she was holding.
Dan smiled sadly. ‘My father. He captained small tourist boats, I used to ride with him sometimes. He had a heart attack when I was a teenager.’
‘Oh, Dan, I’m so sorry.’
He rubbed the stem of his glass. ‘It happened when he was taking a group of school kids out on a day trip. But he somehow managed to steer the boat to safety, despite the pain he must’ve been in, the fear he must’ve felt.’
‘He was a hero.’
Dan nodded. ‘Exactly. But that wasn’t enough for the company he worked for. They somehow found a way not to pay us the money he was due.’ His grip on his glass tightened, his jaw clenching. ‘Not only that, they caused his heart attack, I’m sure of it. He was so stressed from the hours they were making him work, all the new rules and regulations. That’s why I’m so adamant now to be a good boss and not do that to my employees.’
Charity lifted her glass again, champagne sloshing over the edges. ‘Good for you.’
‘After seeing his boss being so smug at the inquest into my father’s death, I made a promise to myself: one day I’d buy the boat company he owned.’
Charity smiled. ‘And that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?’
He smiled back at her. ‘Exactly. It completely motivated me. I left school at fifteen and got a job at a local docks. I started buying old boats with the money I scraped together and renovated them. It made me enough money to be able to take over the shipping company my father worked for when it fell on hard times.’ He smiled. ‘The look on the manager’s face when I told him who I was. The revenge was sweet.’
‘Did your mother live to see it happen?’
His face darkened. ‘No. She passed away just before. It took the shine off a bit.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Was counselling something you always wanted to get into?’
‘Actually, no. I wanted to be a dancer.’ Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘And an actress and an astronaut,’ Charity added, laughing. ‘I kept changing my mind, they were just pipe dreams. I used to wish I was more like Faith, so single-minded and focused on her dream of becoming a marine biologist. I guess in the end it was her death that made me want to help people who’ve been through bad times.’
Dan frowned. ‘Your sister went through bad times?’
‘Oh no, she was always so happy. Well, she seemed a bit preoccupied the last couple of weeks before the accident. But all-in-all, she was fine.’
‘So your sister’s death led you to counselling, like my father’s death led me to my career?’ Charity nodded and Dan sighed. ‘Listen to both of us, driven by the past.’
‘I know. I love Faith and miss her so desperately, but I wish I could move on.’
‘Me too,’ Dan said.
They were quiet for a few moments, then Dan suddenly stood up. ‘Give me a few moments.’
Five minutes later, he returned, putting his hand out to her.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘You’ll see.’
She took Dan’s hand, felt it warm and soft under her grasp. A few minutes later, they were standing in a pretty wooden boat with flowers etched down its side. It was tethered to the hotel’s small jetty, bobbing up and down in the dark lake. After a while, the woman Charity recognised as the manager who was sometimes at reception appeared on the deck with a bunch of flowers in her arms, ‘Mrs Rangan’ written on the label on her sari.
‘What’s going on?’ Charity asked Dan.
He smiled. ‘Wait and see.’
Mrs Rangan placed the flowers on the edge of the boat then started plucking off the petals, laying them on the decking one by one until a beautiful circular pattern started to appear under the moonlight.
‘Come, help me,’ she said, gesturing towards the remaining flowers. Dan and Charity got up, placing petals where she pointed. After ten minutes, the pattern had trebled in size, taking over most of the decking, circles within circles, triangles within squares.
‘Wow,’ Charity said as they stood back to observe the pattern they’d worked so hard to create. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘It is, isn’t it? It’s a mandala,’ Mrs Rangan said, leaning under the bench and pulling out two brushes, handing them over to Dan and then Charity.
‘What’s this for?’ Charity asked.
‘Now you must sweep the pattern away,’ Mrs Rangan explained.
‘But it took us such a long time to create.’
‘Life is impermanent, like those you have lost,’ Mrs Rangan replied. ‘You must sweep away the past to move on to the future.’
Charity stared up at the star-speckled sky. ‘Faith, my beautiful sister,’ she whispered. Then she started sweeping the soft bristles of her brush over the pattern as Dan did the same, watching the petals drift up into the air and over the edge of the boat.
Mrs Rangan let them stay on the boat afterwards. They sat in silence for a while, staring out at the dark lake. It was a comfortable silence and Charity felt at peace for a brief few moments.
‘Thank you, Dan. That really helped.’ She felt a tear slide down her cheek. Dan leant forward, taking her hand. Under the light, his handsome features were even more accentuated, the small dimple in his chin, his smooth tanned forehead and those eyes, green like the lake in sunlight. For a moment, she wondered what it might be like to have never met Niall but to have been with someone like Dan instead.
Would Faith still be alive?
Dan’s eyes dropped to her lips and her heart slammed against her chest, breath deepening.
Laughter rang out from the restaurant.
Charity stood up abruptly. ‘I ought to head back,’ she said, grabbing on to the side as the boat bobbed up and down.
Dan raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes blinking as though he’d just woken up. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll walk you back.’
They walked in silence, the tension of what had nearly happened throbbing between them. Charity’s mind felt soft with alcohol, the lights lining the path blurring before her. Every now and again, Dan had to help steady her as she swayed. The touch of his hand on her arm sent sparks through her, confusing her. Where had this come from?
When they got to her villa, a figure was waiting for her in the dark. As she drew closer, she realised it was Niall. A frown appeared on his face when he saw Dan. Guilt squirmed inside.
‘You’ve been together?’ Niall asked, looking between them.
‘Just a few drinks,’ Charity said.
‘Well, I’ll say goodbye now,’ Dan said, bowing his head and walking away.
‘You’re drunk,’ Niall said to Charity when Dan left.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I guess I’m surprised you got drunk with Dan North.’
Charity walked past him and put her key in the door. ‘Why are you here, Niall?’
‘I don’t like us arguing.’
She sighed and turned back to him. ‘Neither do I.’
‘Can we talk?’
She thought of the mandala ceremony earlier, and Mrs Rangan’s words of wisdom: You must sweep away the past to move on to the future.
‘It’s late, Niall, and I’m exhausted. Goodnight.’
She let herself in before she could see the look on his face, then leant against the closed door in the darkness for a few moments, trying to steady her hammering heart.
Chapter Eight
Willow
Kerala, India
September 2016
Children peer at me from the doorways of stone buildings the colour of earth, some giggling as they point at my tattoos. Many of the girls are wearing fancy dresses, too fancy for your average day in a southern Indian village. Dogs wander about, sniffing at the ground.
This doesn’t feel real. The map of all the submerged forests my mum wanted to visit, which is tucked into my rucksack, doesn’t feel real either. I’d called Ajay from the cottage the morning after I found it. When I mentioned the submerged forest he’d grown up next to was on the map I’d found, I hadn’t even had to ask if I could visit his home with him. He’d instantly invited me.
I was hanging out with some diving friends in Devon the past few weeks and I started to wonder if I was making a mistake. Was this a pointless homage, as my aunt seemed to suggest? But now I’m here it feels right. Mum would want this. Hopefully she’ll be smiling down on me.
‘They’ve dressed especially for you, Willow,’ Ajay says as he leads me towards one of three bright blue buildings in the middle of the village. A woman is standing at the doorway with a girl of about seven alongside a boy a couple of years older.
The woman must be Ajay’s sister, Satya. She has the same distinctive bone structure as he does, high cheekbones and plump lips, a thick head of dark hair down to her shoulders, a sari made of white material lined with large red flowers draped along her tall body. Next to her, Ajay’s niece is wearing a red bejewelled dress and his nephew is clad in a gold shirt over dark blue jeans with gold swirls over them.
I stick out like a sore thumb in my navy blue shorts and black vest top. Even Ajay’s wearing some colour, in the form of a bright blue shirt.
‘I feel like the Queen,’ I say. ‘If I’d known, I would have dusted off the only dress I own.’
‘You own a dress?’ Ajay asks in mock shock.
I dig my elbow into his arm and his sister smiles then gives him a big hug, his niece and nephew doing the same. Satya then steps towards me, pressing her palms together and bowing her head in the traditional Indian greeting Ajay told me about. I do the same, and she smiles.
‘It is an honour to have you as our guest,’ she says in good English, delicately swatting away a fly with her right hand. ‘I must apologise for any upheaval, it’s Aadrika’s Kadhani Vizha tomorrow,’ she explains, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
‘Ear piercing,’ Ajay says. ‘Big deal for little girls here.’
I put my hand to my own ear, remembering how desperately I’d wanted a piercing when I was ten. My aunt had refused, telling me it was ‘common’. I remember screaming at her that Mum would’ve let me. She’d pursed her lips and turned away, like she always did when I said that.
Satya says something in Indian to Ajay and he nods as his niece’s eyes light up.
‘Satya would like you to come to the ceremony tomorrow,’ Ajay says.
‘Oh, you don’t have to invite me,’ I say.
‘You’re already invited,’ Satya says, shooting me a look of steel that says ‘subject over’. Maybe the women here aren’t so delicate after all? She gestures into her house. ‘Come inside, you must be hungry.’
She leads us in into a hallway with faded pink walls and dark tiled floors. A door at the back opens out on to a shaded veranda, the slice of sunlight streaming through it bouncing off the floor and almost blinding me as I step in. Pretty gold-framed pictures line the walls and there’s a delicious spicy scent drifting through the house.
After a wonderful dinner, I realise just how exhausted I am, Ajay too, the jetlag finally catching up on us. So Satya shows me to a small room at the front of the house that looks out over land dotted with trees and the huge national park rising in the distance. I open the holdall which contains my life. Clothes all the same colours, blacks, greys and navies, so I don’t need to spend vital moments matching colours when I could be diving. It was for this same reason that I chopped my long black hair off when I was twelve, to my aunt’s dismay – it was easier to deal with after a swimming session. My playing cards spill from the bag when I pull a top out for tomorrow. I’d developed an obsession with playing patience as a kid and haven’t been able to shrug it off. The sticks of chewing gum I’ve brought with me are another obsession, essential to help me equalise after a deep dive, but Ajay jokes he can follow a trail of gum stuck to walls and under tables if ever he wants to find me.
Next, I pull out the small photo album I carry around with me, a birthday present from my parents when I was five, charting my first years with them from a blinking newborn with a thick patch of black hair curled up against my dad’s bare chest, to my first awkward steps, Mum standing over me and holding my hands above my head.
And now the silver bag that was found on the submerged ship joins all these items too.
After changing into an old diving t-shirt and faded blue shorts, I sit cross-legged on the bed and look out at the distant mountains, the full moon above turning the sky a satin grey, the outline of trees in the distance black and jagged. I hold the silver bag close to me. It smells of the sea, of salt and brine. It’s a sad smell; makes my heart ache for the fear my mum must have felt in those last moments.
Did the bag’s strap slide from Mum’s pale shoulders as she ran with Dad to what they thought would be safety? Did she turn, go to reach for it knowing it was a gift from me, watching forlorn as it got trampled under panicked feet?
Or was Mum still holding it as the ship sank? Was it the last thing Dad saw, the silver satin entwined around her as she sunk to the seabed with him? Did they think of me?
Or did she think of the necklace inside, her initials entwined with another man’s?
I reach for my small photo album and lie back on the bed, holding it and the bag close to me as the sound of crickets and the rustle of small animals foraging in the plants outside send me to sleep.
We rise with the sun the next day. As I wait for Ajay to shove his diving gear into his brother-in-law’s old four-by-four for the car journey to Lake Periyar, I watch the sun rise. It turns the soft clouds a hazy orange, shrouding the trees ahead of us in yellow light. It’s calm, peaceful, a contrast to how I’m feeling inside. I’m buzzing, the idea of diving a site my mum was so excited to see fills me with energy, even more so than when I do a normal dive.
‘All done,’ Ajay says, jumping into the passenger’s seat. ‘Sure you want to drive? The roads can get dicey around here.’
‘I like dicey. You navigate and enjoy the ride.’
He grips on to the edge of his seat and pulls a terrified face as I laugh.
‘You have a lovely family,’ I say as I start the engine.
He smiles. ‘They are very special.’
‘I’m envious. I’ve often wondered what it’d be like to be part of a huge family like yours.’
He frowns slightly. ‘It’s not all a bed of roses. There’s a lot of pressure.’
‘To do what?’
‘To settle down and get a “real job”,’ he says, making quotation marks with his fingers. ‘It was hard telling my parents I wanted to be a diver after they’d paid for me to study medicine at Oxford.’
‘I didn’t kn
ow you did that.’
He nodded. ‘The plan was for me to become a good doctor and meet a good Indian wife.’
‘What happened to those plans?’
‘I joined the rowing team and remembered how much I loved being on the water.’
I look at him in surprise. ‘You rowed for Oxford? God, Ajay, the things I’m learning about you on this trip! Did you help them win?’
He laughed. ‘That’s the problem. I was better underwater than on top of it. It brought back memories of diving the forest here as a child. So in a moment of madness, I quit and took a diving course.’
‘Your parents must have gone spare.’
He sighed. ‘Of course. But I have paid them back, three times over. And now they are as proud as they can be of their disappointing son.’
The journey takes nearly an hour. The mist hides the surrounding scenery from us for the first thirty minutes, obscuring our view, the long red dusty road and herds of animals we pass our only companions. But soon the sun burns through the mist and it lifts like a veil, revealing stretches of lush green land either side of a road fringed with palm trees. We pass through villages much like Ajay’s, watching as people go about their morning chores, filling beautifully coloured pots of all sizes with water from the village tap and getting children dressed in school uniforms made of brown shorts and coral shirts, backpacks snug around their shoulders. They stop and watch us as we pass, not used to seeing a girl with black hair and tattoos driving an Indian man down their roads.
After a while, the foliage around us grows more dense, canals and waterways stretching out in the distance as we enter the heart of the national park.
‘We’re close,’ Ajay says.
My tummy shimmers. How many times had Mum dreamt about making this journey?
Ajay gestures for me to turn right and we bounce over a small dirt track that winds through the forest until we reach a grass clearing.
The lake spreads out before us, clear and shining. And there, darting up from the lake’s shimmering depths, the black remains of tree trunks. It makes for a stunning view, the lake glimmering and alive compared to the still dead trunks of these ancient trees.
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